


you say you miss me (but that's not what i want to hear)

by BunnyThatFlies



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Crying, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Injury, Invisible Snufkin, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of child neglect, Not a fun one that's for sure, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, dark themes, i guess i'll say happy ending, just so yall know, only a little
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-02-16 13:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyThatFlies/pseuds/BunnyThatFlies
Summary: Snufkin's a week late returning from his Winter travels, and he's never been this late before. Moomin begins to wonder if maybe Snufkin has forgotten them. Him.That is, until a familiar green hat floats by through the river as he waits on the bridge. Snufkin never leaves his hat.





	1. Moomin

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to my first snufmin fic! I hope you all enjoy, it's gonna be a rocky ride.

The first signs of Spring are usually Moomintroll's favourite things. The first green leaf on the trees in front of the house, the steady sloshing of the stream outside, the chirps of the birds as they fly past his window.

But it's been a week since he woke from hibernation, on the first day of Spring, and none of the usual Spring delights can bring a smile to his face.

A whole week. He's never been this late before.

He's absent-mindedly poking holes in his bread with the knife in his paw instead of eating it, the honey spread on top bitter and cloying in his mouth. Little My seems intent on poking fun at him, either from ignorance or too much observational knowledge, until Moominmamma gives her a stern look and reminds her to eat her food.

Moomin's stomach rumbles quietly, but the thought of eating anything when he already feels sick with worry and doubt makes him want to throw up even more. Mamma and Pappa share a worried look when Moomin rubs at his eyes with a paw, but he doesn't notice.

A few days ago, they'd called Sniff and Snorkmaiden over, to see if having his friends around would bring his spirits back up, but to no avail. That was only the third day, and even by then, Moomin was an empty husk, morose and closed off. Sniff had been as oblivious as always, and Snorkmaiden eventually became fed up when she realised that Moomin's attention wasn't going to be hers.

They both left not long after arriving, Snorkmaiden in a whirl of annoyance and jealousy and Sniff from plain boredom. Moomin didn't even think twice about it.

His eyes have hardly left the bridge, a little ways away, only looking away when there's a wall in the way, or sleep beckons him into dreams of false happiness.

Dreams that consist of the two of them, happy. Sometimes dancing, sometimes laughing, sometimes stargazing. But always together. He's happy until he wakes, the void even bigger at the disappointment.

The worst part of it all is that he knows that should Snufkin know how  _ much _ Moomin misses him, it'd spook the mumrik, and either he'd pull back and become closed off like he used to be the first time they met, or he'd never come back.

Perhaps, Moomin thinks to himself as he sighs, that's what happened this time.

He'd have liked a final farewell if that was the case, but he knew that even that was a lot to ask of Snufkin.

The broccoli and leaves on his other plate lay untouched, the honey smothered bread now a mess of holes and small nibbles. His paws feel numb.

Sighing, Moomin turns to face his parents when an odd shape catches his attention in his periphery, floating almost serenely down the river towards the sea. He stands quickly from the table and rushes off without a second thought, the calls of Mamma like a whisper compared to the shouting worry in his mind.

Out of breath and winded, he loses his breath at the realisation of what is in front of him.

There, bobbing up and down against the current, hindered on its journey by a rock, is Snufkin's hat, green and bright as ever, but wet, tattered.

Closing his eyes, Moomin turns and counts to three before looking back, and upon still seeing the hat (that it wasn't his imagination), a chill settles deep beneath his fur despite the balmy breeze of the Spring weather.

He picks it up, barely even registering as Little My runs up behind him and demands to know what's happening, his parents voices carrying on the wind.

Snufkin never goes anywhere without his hat firmly attached to his head. Even in the worst of storms, he's never lost it.

There are holes in the fabric, weathered and threadbare.

Moomin crosses the bridge, following the river upstream. If Snufkin's hat ended up in the river floating downstream, he must be somewhere in the opposite direction.

“Moomin! Slow down, will you?” Pappa calls out to him as he continues his silent searching. He doesn't slow down, his mind racing.

What if Snufkin was hurt? What if Snufkin had  _ been _ hurt? Moomin daren't think about the worst case scenario, eyes filling with tears as he shakes his head to dispel the thought of Snufkin's body, limp and cold.

No. He mustn't think such dark things. Snufkin could look after himself.

Moomin trips over a long, wooden fishing rod and gasps, bending down to pick it up, the line snapped, the hook nowhere to be found. This was definitely Snufkin's, the knocks and marks in the wood as familiar to him as the shine of the mumrik's eyes, the auburn of his hair.

By now, the four of them were far enough away from their house that they couldn't see it over the treetops. It wouldn't have taken Snufkin long to get to his campsite if he'd been here.

As they continue upstream, more items of Snufkin's seem to be strewn along the river bank. A tent pole, a bucket, a box of matches (sodden), a pipe, a pair of shoes.

The tent. Ripped to shreds, threads blowing in the breeze, blown to the other side of the river.

“There must've been a storm, dear,” Mamma says soothingly, her paw on Moomin's shoulder. “Snufkin must've hidden in the caves.”

That's right. Snufkin is an experienced traveller, he knows everything, there's no way he'd  _ not _ have retreated to the Lonely Mountains for safety in a cave. But there's still a nagging sensation in his mind that says that's not the case.

A particularly harsh breeze sends a thick, woollen blanket down from a tree, the checkered pattern faded but recognisable enough as the blanket he'd given Snufkin the Winter before last, as a parting gift.

Oh Snufkin, where could he be?


	2. Snufkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is up so soon after the first, but expect this to inevitably not stay the same forever lmao

Morning dew gathers on the fly-away threads of the blanket laid over his body, the branch beneath him hard and uncomfortable. Snufkin would sigh if he could make a sound.

This damp blanket is all he has left. His tent lies in tatters across the river, his other meagre belongings strewn around so far he can't see some of them. He's lucky he'd managed to snag it as he climbed the tree in the harsh wind, hugging the trunk tightly before finding a branch wide enough to lay on.

The storm was like no other he'd ever experienced so close to Moominvalley, winds fast and devastating (some weaker, younger trees hadn't made it, uprooted from their place), rain heavy and soaking. It's a miracle Snufkin hasn't caught a cold. Maybe even the cold couldn't find him.

The storm had cleared up after a while, the sun peaking through the grey clouds until they completely disappeared, replaced with bright white fluffy amorphous shapes, but by that point, Snufkin was too scared to return to Moominvalley.

He looks at his hands and feels his heart race when he sees nothing, just the ground beneath the tree. He'd become invisible.

It wasn't the first time. Many times, especially before meeting Moomin, his body would turn foggy and somewhat translucent, only really there if you looked closely enough. Sometimes it even felt comforting, that he could be easily missed, that he didn't need to make attachments because he'd just disappear and anyone else would forget him.

But he'd never faded so completely as he is now. Even his clothes are see-through, his voice silent, his entire existence gone like he is nothing.

That thought wouldn't have scared him a few years ago. In fact, he'd have welcomed it. Maybe it’s growth. Maybe he's relapsing.

He was so sure, before the storm, that his fingers wouldn't be clear, that his face would be seen, that his voice could be heard. That he'd remember how it felt to be loved and cared for, and he'd be able to go another year without explaining anything. That he could return without fuss.

But then he got caught up in the storm, and his time for returning ran out. He's sure to have either been forgotten by now (after all, he's late enough that maybe they won't expect him back, and he wouldn't blame them), or he's greatly upset Moomin, and Snufkin doesn't know which is worse (he does. It's always upsetting Moomin).

Returning now would upset him even more, in this state, of that he's sure. It's a conundrum.

Stories about invisible people are commonplace enough that Snufkin has heard plenty of them. People turn invisible for many different reasons; in children, it's mostly due to abusive caretakers or absentee parents, in adults the cause is less obvious.

Snufkin has many ideas about why he used to turn invisible. This time he's a little less sure.

As a child, his mother had so many children that paying attention to each individual was impossible. His father was a vagabond just like him now. He was very lonely as a child, until he decided to own it and leave, but the damage was already done.

He doesn't like to dwell on it.

From his vantage point high in the tree, he can see the red roof of Moominhouse in the distance, and he just hopes, as his heart aches, that Moomin can move on.

A part of his mind asks him why he hasn't continued travelling; even without his tent and fishing rod he'd be able to survive well enough if he tried. The traitorous part replies that he doesn't want to try.

And maybe that's part of the reason why he's invisible, maybe it's a sign that he needs to work on his issues, but he's too… Snufkin to do that.

Torn between fleeing his emotions but only getting worse, maybe even disappearing for good, and fleeing the unknown and returning to Moominvalley, Snufkin can't help but feel his frustration grow.

Why can't he just decide?

“There must've been a storm, dear-” a gentle voice floats up from the ground, a familiar one that brings warmth to his heart as he leans over and looks down.

Moominmamma continues to reassure the white, fluffy figure beside her, and Snufkin feels his heart leap into his throat. Moomin is holding his hat in his paws, eyes downcast and tail dragging on the mulchy grass beneath their feet.

They're looking for him. Now's his chance to decide. But decide what? Why can't he just choose already?

His hands ball into fists on his lap in anger before a harsh breeze whips through the tree top, sending his blanket down to Moomin's feet.

Snufkin watches with baited breath as his friend picks it up, rubbing a paw at his eyes (oh no, he's crying), and turns into his mother, hugging her tightly.

And yet, even with proof that his lack of presence and the concerning spread of his belongings has greatly upset Moomin, he can't move from his branch, frozen into place with misguided fear.

A scratching, scrambling sound makes him whip his head around quick enough to give him whiplash, the shock of seeing Little My right next to his head shocking him enough to send him tumbling from his branch.

He hits multiple other branches, unable to grab a single one until he lands on the grass, pain blooming from his side, restricting his breathing.

For a moment, there's silence, but Snufkin can see the Moomins staring at the mumrik shaped patch of flattened grass where he lays, can hear Little My's footsteps as she runs over from the tree.

“S… Snufkin?” Moomin whispers, like if he says his name any louder he might cease to exist. His breath hitches as he nods, the grass moving around him the only way to tell. “Oh no…”

Little My pokes at his arm before gasping, commenting that ‘he's just like Ninny’ (although he doesn't know who that is), and Moomin runs over, kneeling right next to him.

“Can you talk?”

Shaking his head, everything starts to cave in on Snufkin, his lack of control over the situation like shackles to his freedom, panic seizing him. But Moomin is calm, or at least not currently freaking out, and Snufkin considers that a small victory.

“We need to get you back to Moominhouse,” his friend says, more to himself than anyone else, but frowns when Snufkin gasps as he tries to sit up, a sharp pain in his ribs. “Are you hurt?”

He can hear the panic in Moomin's voice again, and tries to speak but all that happens is that he gasps again. Snufkin rolls his eyes before taking a hold of Moomin's hand, squeezing it in a way he hopes is as reassuring as it is comforting to feel Moomin squeeze back.

Pappa passes Moomin the blanket, and Moomin gives it to Snufkin so he can see where he is before standing and scooping the mumrik up into his arms. The movement jostles Snufkin's side, and he buries his face in Moomin's arm, trying to not cry.

He's stronger than that. He shouldn't worry Moomin any more than he already has.

An impending sense of doom shrouds him then, the thought that he should've run away whilst he still could circling his brain like sewage in a drain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is author projecting? Noooo never
> 
> id hoped to keep things mysterious but i got carried away lol, also snuf is not in his right mind which is why he might seem a little ooc, sorry
> 
> Also I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who kudoed and commented and stuff, watching all the kudos roll in and getting the comment emails was so nice :3


	3. Moomin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on a roll lol. i give it a week before i stop updating so quickly

Moomin picks up the blanket, paws smoothing the slightly damp fabric reverently, turning and holding onto Mamma tightly, no sign of Snufkin anywhere. Pappa takes the hat and blanket from his paws gently, the sound of Little My climbing a tree quiet against the rushing stream.

Mamma gently smoothes his back, reminding him of how resourceful and brave Snufkin is, trying to calm him down, but how can he calm down when Snufkin might be hurt? Alone and somewhere so close yet so far Moomin will never reach him.

Little My shouts something from high in one of the trees, the sound followed by multiple thuds and a final, louder thud in the grass. His first thought is that the small mymble fell, but he can see her scampering down the trunk, so what fell?

There's a patch of grass not too far from the base of the tree, flattened in the shape of a small person, unlike the rest of the grass swaying gently in the Spring breeze. Hope fills him briefly before he loses it just as suddenly.

Moomin doesn't want to think it but he needs to be sure. “S… Snufkin?”

The valley seems to go silent around them, not a single bird whistling, not a single leaf shaking. 

The grass moves like the invisible person is nodding, and Moomin feels like bursting into tears.

“Oh no…” The words leave him in a rushed exhale, rushing over to his best friend's invisible form stretched out on the grass.

“He's just like Ninny.” Little My muses softly, poking the air until she feels resistance. Moomin glares at her until she stops poking.

What could've made Snufkin go invisible like Ninny? From what Too-Ticky said about invisible people, they usually were made invisible due to trauma or overwhelmingly bad emotions. A small part of him is morbidly intrigued at what could've hurt Snufkin so much he disappeared, the rest of him horrified that something  _ did  _ happen to hurt or upset him.

Moomin tries to think of how they could help, of the things they did for Ninny not that long ago that helped her regain herself. Maybe start with the basics.

“Can you talk?” He asks gently, watching the grass around the area that moved when he asked his previous question. It moves as though Snufkin is shaking his head. Even worse.

He doesn't let the panic he feels mounting as the seconds drag on show, he needs to stay calm and strong for Snufkin right now. Oh how worried and scared Snufkin must be feeling!

“We need to get you back to Moominhouse,” he explains, proud that his voice doesn't waver. There's a quiet rustling as Snufkin tries to sit up, before Moomin hears a soft, but pained, gasp, and he can't hold back the panic in his voice, brow furrowing in empathy. “Are you hurt?”

Snufkin doesn't respond in a vocal way (obviously) other than another gasping breath, but he holds onto Moomin's paw tightly, the lack of a visual hand in his paw only confusing slightly, a gentle squeeze like Snufkin's telling him to not worry so much. It brings a small, sad smile to Moomin's face as he squeezes back for lack of words to explain that they'll make Snufkin better for sure.

Pappa clears his throat pointedly, passing Moomin the blanket with a slight nod towards Snufkin's general direction when it's clear that Snufkin can't stand. He thanks him quietly, laying the blanket down and watching as the mumrik moves it over him so his body is visible.

They let go of each other's hands as Moomin stands before leaning over to slide his arms under Snufkin's body carefully, so as to not hurt him any more than he has to. His friend doesn't make a sound as Moomin picks him up and holds him securely (he's lighter than he remembers, and not nearly warm enough for Moomin's liking), but Snufkin presses his face into his arm, breathing rapid and shallow.

He must be in so much pain, Moomin thinks, wanting to cry again for his friend. But the sooner they get back to Moominhouse, the sooner they can find a way to get Snufkin to tell them what's wrong, and help him. Then he won't be in pain.

Well. He will be. But he'll be healing at least.

Mamma smiles encouragingly at him as he passes her, the other two picking up the few belongings of Snufkin's that are salvageable and the rest (although not as carefully). 

The walk back is long, perhaps longer than the walk there despite his gloom, because now they need to heal Snufkin, and there's no sooner time to do so than as soon as possible.

Moomin's arm feels wet where Snufkin's face is buried, his body trembling (whether from pain or from crying he can't tell), and his heart breaks even more. In an effort to soothe him, Moomin whispers gentle reassurances and some stories about his hibernation to try and distract Snufkin, and it seems to work, the trembling not nearly as strong once they reach the bridge over the stream. He'd be lying if he said it didn't calm him down too.

Mamma races ahead and opens the door for them, before setting the sofa up into a makeshift bed quickly, for Snufkin to lay on as they figure out a way to help him.

Snufkin lets go of Moomin's arm as he sets him down on the cushions, rearranging himself comfortably as the others consider their options.

Tears hover in midair as they fall from Snufkin's eyes, before he seems to wipe them away, the only visual proof, besides the blanket, of his existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope its not boring going back over these events in different povs, i just like getting both of their emotions in  
> it wont keep overlapping all the time though, not once the first few chapters have been established


	4. Snufkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me in chap 3: gives it a week before the 'every other day' uploading goes down the drain  
> also me now: it only took a day for that to change
> 
> i have...many wips again. someone pls stop me

Moomin has only ever carried him once before; a much simpler, light hearted occurrence. It feels like a lifetime ago, when in actuality it was only a few years.

* * *

 

_ The sun, dipping low behind the horizon, leaves a smear of pink-purple paint across an otherwise blue sky, the midsummer breeze brushing Snufkin's hair across his face, his hat safely weighted down beside him with a pebble. _

_ The sea glistens with a mirror-like quality, the same gradient reflected back at his eyes from above as he leans against a large rock, watching Moomin and Snorkmaiden dance to the sound of Sniff's old record player. Sniff and Little My are paddling in the shallow depths of the water, much too early in the evening for cold water. _

_ It's calm. This is a memory Snufkin will hold dear to his heart as he travels through the cold, dreary Winter months south. _

_ “Snufkin!” Moomin calls excitedly, Snorkmaiden's face falling as her dance partner leaves her behind in the sand to run over to him. “Come and join us!” _

_ He laughs softly to himself, shaking his head. “No, I'm quite alright here, Moomintroll. Go and play with the others if you're bored of dancing.” _

_ Moomin pants a little, before holding his hands out to Snufkin in an offering. “Well actually, I was thinking maybe, since you look so alone all on your own over here, maybe we could both play with the others?” _

_ The setting sun throws a golden light over Moomin from behind, his white fur turning gold at the edges, his shy smile and bright eyes like Summer incarnate. How could Snufkin refuse? _

_ “I suppose it does look like fun.” He relents, not without a slight smirk, hesitantly taking Moomin's offered paws and feeling a slight exhilaration as the troll pulls him up fluidly. _

_ Discarding of his shoes and rolling up his trousers, Snufkin rolls his eyes as Moomin becomes restless, pulling him towards the shallows and grabbing Snorkmaiden along the way. _

_ The five of them play, splashing each other without abandon, laughing at Sniff when Little My 'accidentally’ knocks him over face first into the cooling water.  _

_ A few minutes later and Snorkmaiden wanders back to the record player with Little My, the two of them dancing to keep the smaller one out of trouble. Sniff and Moomin cease the splashing to pick up pebbles they like, shiny from being underwater so long, as Snufkin debates whether to start up a campfire as the darkness encroaches. _

_ They tell each other spooky stories once Snufkin has the campfire blazing, the record player silent for now. Preferring to listen to the others’ stories, he finds himself staring at Moomin across the fire, his eyes reflecting the fire back at Snufkin all too well, the fear visible in his irises as Little My tells her ghost story. _

_ Sniff eventually runs over to the record player and turns it back on to fill the silent void post-story-telling, and everyone continues to dance, Snufkin reluctantly joining in at Moomin's request. _

_ They dance themselves silly, laughter and joyful screams filling the beach as they frolick, the music jaunty and lively. Snufkin might be embarrassed to admit that it's not as bad as he sometimes thinks socialising can be, especially when Moomin takes a hold of his waist and spins him around in the air, the both of them giggling like they've never giggled before. _

_ Never one for touch or affection, Snufkin is surprised, albeit pleasantly, when he feels a little empty when Moomin places him back down on the sand gently, missing his touch when he moves over to do the same with Snorkmaiden. _

_ Later that night, nestled comfortably in his tent across the stream from Moominhouse, the terror grips him eventually, his breathing shallow and rushed when he remembers that he  _ missed _ Moomin's touch. That he didn't hate it. _

_ But the memory was there, happy and gold tinted and light. Nothing would change that. _

* * *

 

Now, being held by his best friend only serves to make him even more upset, heart clenching uncomfortably in his chest. Is it because he feels safe here, that he doesn't hate the closeness as much as he tries to pretend he does? Because he does, and even that he hates.

Snufkin's walls are made of paper where Moomin's concerned. Brick and mortar torn down long before he even comes close, whatever is left thin and easily destroyed without a second thought.

It's terrifying how easily the comfortable, safe bounds of his internal walls that were once so strong before he stumbled across Moominvalley are swept to the side with the best intentions and the worst consequences.

It's not Moomin's fault. Snufkin's just confused.

The tears soak into Moomin's fur before Snufkin can stop them, and he can tell that Moomin knows he's crying because he starts whispering to him softly.

“Once we're home, we'll find a way for you to talk and we'll help you,” he says, snout brushing against Snufkin's ear so he doesn't have to speak too loud. “You'll be back to normal in no time.”

It's a nice sentiment, but it only serves to make him cry harder, because that's not how any of this works. It'll take weeks for him to become visible again, of that he's sure, and who knows how long before his side heals (he suspects his ribs are broken, can feel the sharp edges scratching at his lungs with every inhale). He can't even see the rest of the damage dealt to him by the storm and the fall.

Realising that didn't help, Moomin switches topics to his hibernation, about how he met one of his ancestors in midwinter after he awoke too early again, and how Too-Ticky helped him keep busy whilst everyone else slept. The distraction works better, calming Snufkin down enough that his crying doesn't wrack his body so much anymore.

The front door of Moominhouse swings open and Moomin places him on the sofa carefully, helping Snufkin lay comfortably.

He wipes his eyes hastily when he sees Moomin staring, wishing he could smile at his friend to ease the worry behind his eyes. There's so much he wishes for right now.

“Right, I have a pen and some paper,” Moominmamma announces as she rushes down the stairs, presumably from Moominpappa's study. “Snufkin dear, you can write can't you?”

“Mamma he can't answer…” Moomin whispers to her, eyes flitting between the empty space above Snufkin's head and Moominmamma, before they all turn to watch as Moominpappa and Little My bring his things in. “He can write.”

Snufkin takes the paper and pen when Moominmamma holds them out in his vague direction, quickly scribbling a thank you and showing it.

“Great, could you tell me what hurts?” She prompts carefully as Moomin rushes to the others to help them sort through what's salvageable.

‘ _ I think I may have broken some ribs as I fell from the tree, but you mustn't fuss, they'll heal on their own.’ _ He writes quickly, feeling his arm ache as he does so. Perhaps he's more hurt than he thought with the pain in his side demanding his attention most.

He can feel scratches and cuts all over his skin too, but with no way of telling where they are, or how deep they are, there's really not much that can be done for him.

“Anything else? It was a mighty fall,” Moominmamma continues, opening her Grandma's book and flipping through the pages with haste. “Perhaps our best bet is to help you become visible again first.”

Nodding before he remembers she can't see, Snufkin bites his lip and begins writing again. ‘ _ Please don't worry, Moominmamma, I should be out of your hair after a bath and once I have a new tent. _ ’

Reading over his shoulder, Moomin tuts loudly before reading it aloud to the room. “I don't think that's wise.”

Moominmamma nods in agreement with her son, landing on a page about healing bath salts. “Me neither. You can stay in our guest room until you are better, we'd all worry if you were sleeping outside with broken bones,” she stands to go to the pantry, but smiles warmly at Snufkin's direction. “And please, just call me Mamma.”

Moomin takes her chair and sits in front of Snufkin as the mumrik scribbles furiously. ‘ _ I’ll be fine. I don't want to be a bother. _ ’

“Snufkin…” Moomin sounds sad as he exhales his name, just the two of them in the living room for a moment. “I get it, you don't want to feel trapped. But Mamma knows what's best, and we want to help you. Will you let us?”

It's definitely a question, not leading, not presumptuous. Simple and open ended. Snufkin could say no and leave in the morning with a new tent and work it all out himself and the Moomins wouldn't think any less of him for it (although they'd be worried). Or he could say yes, and stay with them and let them try to help, and they wouldn't think any less of him for that either (and they'd be less worried).

But at what cost?

‘ _ I don't know…’  _ His pen hovers over the paper as he thinks, scanning Moomin's face for any deeper upset or worry and finding none more than before. ‘ _ I’m… Scared, Moomin… _ ’

It's not what he'd wanted to write, and he starts to scribble it out before Moomin stops him gently. “I know, Snuff. Let us help you, so you don't have to be scared.”

Snufkin prides himself on being able to hold his emotions back, to alter them depending on the current mood or conversation. But in this moment, he feels the tears fall again, too panicked and yet relieved at the same time to care. ‘ _ Yes then, please. _ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! im super proud of this chapter, its my fave yet!  
> also...so many kudos...im drowning in them, im so happy


	5. Snufkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive added some new tags, please check them!

Moomin's face holds an air of victory at Snufkin's relent, telling him he'll be back before following Mamma into the pantry.

Moominpappa (or just Pappa, he supposes) and Little My set his things down in piles before similarly disappearing into the pantry, their whispering voices floating down the hallway to Snufkin as they discuss… Him, he'd guess.

Trying to sit up, Snufkin feels every sharp point of his definitely broken ribs poking him and scratching up his insides, but he persists solely so he can evaluate the rest of his injuries.

His wrists ache dully, likely a sprain from trying to grab the branches as he fell. There's a deep heat coming from most of his extremities, so it's likely he's bruised all over too. A few red lines are visible on his hands and feet if one were to look closely. His head hurts.

But without being able to _see_ the extent to which he's hurt, there's really not much to be done about it. Ribs only heal naturally, and healing bath salts will only solve superficial cuts and scrapes. And emotionally… There’s no telling how long it’ll take for him to go visible again, let alone stay that way, and he knows that the Moomins will want to keep him with them until he’s 100% better. It’s well meant, he knows, but the thought makes him want to puke, already feeling trapped and wanting to run away.

Moomin returns from the pantry with a small smile, sitting in the chair he pulled out earlier before Snufkin starts writing again slowly. ‘ _I managed to sit up, you can sit with me._ ’ He holds the paper up before he can change his mind, and pulls the blanket over his shoulders with a hiss (getting used to limited mobility is going to be a pain).

“Okay,” Moomin sits next to him, eyes staring through him in a way that makes Snufkin uncomfortable. “Mamma found the bath salts, can you manage a bath yet?”

It’d hurt, he knows that for sure, but he hasn’t bathed for quite a long time and the thought of floating in clean, warm water sounds like the perfect thing to soothe his racing heart and upset stomach. ' _That sounds nice._ ’

* * *

 

The water is warm as he slides into the bathtub, his clothes (still invisible) safely with Mamma in the spare room as she sets it up for him to stay. Moomin had offered to help Snufkin with his bathing but he’d refused, the offer sweet but stifling.

A soothing sensation spreads across his skin, the bath salts he assumes, relaxing his muscles out of their very tense state, areas of his skin tingling where he assumes cuts and scrapes are. He shuts his eyes and wills the panic that’s beginning to rise again down.

When he opens his eyes again, the walls appear to have begun closing in on him, encroaching silently to smother him, to trap him, to keep him. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub as he loses his grip on it, sliding under in his momentary panic, lucky that he doesn’t instinctively breathe in as his head disappears beneath the water.

Mamma rushes in at the sound and kneels beside the tub, holding her paws out in a non-threatening way, eyes full of worry. Snufkin takes them and allows her to pull him back up, gently fussing about him in a way that chokes him up. He’s grateful that he doesn’t feel much shame, agreeing to let her wash him so he doesn’t hurt himself any more than he needs to, watching the water turn a reddish brown against the white porcelain.

She wraps him up in a fluffy white towel, helping him out of the bath and carefully drying him off without a word, leaving him for a moment to drain the blood stained water away and retrieve some spare clothes for him to change into, so he can be at least a little visible.

Snufkin holds her hand gingerly before she leaves him to get dressed in lieu of saying thank you, but Mamma seems to understand, a comforting smile on her face as she squeezes his hand in return.

The spare clothes hang awkwardly on his body, a few sizes too big, but it’s better than nothing, and the fabric is soft from years of use, gentle against his healing skin.

His knees are shaky as he starts to walk towards the bathroom door, holding on to the wall as he moves, aching all over from his head to his ankles, but he can’t expect Moomin to carry him everywhere, no matter how much pain he’s in (or more precisely, he can’t let himself get used to the _touching_ , because he’ll have to leave eventually, already feeling his skin start to crawl). Snufkin leans on the door frame as he swings the door open weakly, frowning when it hits Moomintroll in the snout.

Moomin makes a noise of shock before shaking it off, rubbing his nose to get rid of the pain. “Oh hey Snufkin… Do you need help? Two knocks for yes?”

Snufkin rolls his eyes but knocks twice hesitantly, deciding that he would probably be less of a hassle if he manages to get down the stairs safely with help instead of hurting himself more by risking going down on his own. Moomin nods, holding his paws out to Snufkin for him to hold onto as they walk, which he’s glad for, especially when he stumbles on a few of the stairs, but Moomin steadies him well.

“Pappa and I moved your things into the spare room, so when we go to bed you can tell me where you want everything and I’ll move it,” the troll explains gently as he helps the mumrik down the last stair, passing him the notepad and pen again once he’s settled on the couch. “We’re having stew for dinner, I’ll help you to the table when it’s ready.”

‘ _Thank you, Moomintroll._ ’ He writes, the bath salts doing a wonderful job of easing the achiness of his muscles enough that it doesn’t hurt his wrists too much at the moment.

* * *

Dinner goes smoothly, although Snufkin barely eats any of the stew, his stomach much too uneasy to hold down anything. He tries to ignore the worried glances Moomin keeps throwing his way, but he catches every single one, making him feel progressively more guilty about his current state.

“Snufkin dear, if I may ask, how did you end up in that situation?” Mamma asks as she passes around a plate of buttered bread, her voice gentle as always.

The table falls quiet as he pulls the paper and pen out of his pockets, beginning to write down his answer. ‘ _I don’t know if you remember that one year we had the really bad Summer storm when I had to stay in the house,_ ’ he shows them the paper and waits for their nods before continuing. ‘ _There was a storm very similar to that a little while ago, only worse. You were probably still hibernating. I wasn’t far from Moominvalley but I lost my sense of direction when it hit. The winds were very fast and strong and I only just managed to climb that tree before my campsite was completely destroyed. I was mostly fine, physically, until I fell out of the tree._ ’

Little My has the decency to look a little sheepish when she reads the last sentence, mumbling an apology for scaring him under her breath. Moomin frowns a little as he reads, frowning more when Mamma and Pappa nod again, expressing their concern for Snufkin’s safety. But he doesn’t say anything about what’s causing him to frown, and so Snufkin decides now is not the time to worry about it.

“Why are you invisible?” Little My asks out of the blue, and he freezes.

“My, you can’t just ask that!” Moomintroll scolds, glaring. Snufkin places his hand on his arm carefully, knowing that gentle touch is a good way to calm his friend down, and feels his stomach somersault when Moomin visibly deflates, still making a face at her but not as angry. “We have to be patient and understanding, like with Ninny.”

She rolls her eyes and hops onto the table, brandishing the pen Snufkin was using like a sword. “No, we had to make her _angry_ , remember?”

“Perhaps we should let Snufkin rest, for today, and see what happens tomorrow.” Mamma reasons, taking the pen away from Little My and giving it back to Snufkin.

‘ _May I ask, who is Ninny?_ ’

Everyone except Mamma begins to talk over each other, their words mingling together to paint a very confusing picture for him. What he does understand is that Ninny is also an invisible person, someone who the Moomins helped to regain her visibility after he’d left in Autumn.

Mamma has an exasperated look on her face when the others start to argue about who helped the most, so Snufkin stands, deciding to talk to her instead of trying to be heard over the arguments. ‘ _I hope I haven’t caused too much fuss._ ’

She smiles gently, putting a paw on his shoulder. He supposes he’ll have to get used to casual touching as well as the constant company. “Of course not, you could never.”

Eventually, the argument dies off, all three of them huffing and grumbling until Mamma declares it time for dessert, their moods instantly lightening. Snufkin refuses the offer of some jam tart, opting instead to take small sips of his lemonade and scribbling out a few responses to Moomin’s rambling about ghosts and Snorkmaiden, at least until the ink runs out of the pen and ceases his means of communicating.

It’s okay though. Instead of joining in with their conversations, he just sits there and zones out, trying not to dwell on how much lonelier it feels, compared to being alone, to be in a room full of people who like you, but will never truly understand you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi! sorry im later than usual!
> 
> i went on holiday with my friend last week, and had a great time, but i didnt get a chance to write :(
> 
> on another note...over 700 kudos??????? im actually gonna cry why are yall so generous lmao
> 
> i hope this chapter was okay! <3


	6. Moomin

Moomin doesn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning all night, hoping to hear either footsteps on the landing or a soft voice calling his name.

He hears nothing, except maybe the bed squeaking when Snufkin turns over. He'd go in to help him sleep, but he honestly has no clue how to, and he'd rather they do this at Snufkin's pace anyway. Rushing him would only make it so much worse.

And so he spends the whole night worrying, wondering what got Snufkin to the state he's in now, wishing on everything he can think of that they'll be able to help.

At sunrise, Moomin hears Mamma wander downstairs, and so he follows her, helping her with making the breakfast and waving off her concern when she notices the dark circles under his eyes.

"I'm just so worried, Mamma," he sighs, stirring the porridge slowly as she mixes the pancake mixture. "What if we can't help him?"

"We'll do everything we can, dear, and that will be more than enough." Mamma reassures gently, flipping the pancake before rustling the fur between his ears, and he feels a little better.

Mamma sets out two bowls of porridge and a stack of pancakes for him and Snufkin to share for breakfast on a tray, a mug of coffee for them both and a new pen for Snufkin to speak with too. Thanking her, Moomin rushes back upstairs with the tray, knocking politely on the spare bedroom door.

When there's no answer, he slowly opens the door and announces his presence before entering in the hopes that he wouldn't scare Snufkin given that he usually wakes up without anyone barging into his tent.

"Good morning Snufkin, I brought breakfast," he says, smiling when the duvet moves and the pillows rise as Snufkin sits up. "Only eat what you can. Oh and Mamma found you a new pen too."

Moomin places the tray on the empty bit of duvet, dragging over the chair from the corner and sitting next to the foot of the bed.

Snufkin takes the pen from the tray, the notepad already on his lap, and writes ' _ Thanks :) _ ', bringing a smile to Moomin's face, the little smiley face endearing if a little sad. If only Snufkin was visible, he thinks, passing him a bowl of porridge and beginning to eat his own.

"Did you sleep well?" He almost cringes as soon as the question is out of his mouth. Of course he didn't. Moomin feels a little ashamed he even asked.

Snufkin's pen hovers over the paper and it's clear he's trying to decide whether to lie or not, so Moomin looks away, giving him a chance to collect his thoughts. When he feels a small tap on his arm he looks again, reading what he'd written.

' _ Honestly not well, Moomintroll, but thank you for asking. _ ' He's thankful he felt he could tell the truth, and Moomin watches as he puts the paper down to eat some of the porridge.

Hiding up in a tree, he probably didn't eat very much, which is why Mamma said they could share the pancakes, not wanting Snufkin to make himself more ill by eating too much too soon. The small spoonfuls he eats makes sense.

"Is there anything we can do so you can have a better night's sleep?" He'd rather know, so Snufkin wouldn't have to help them to help him, but when they looked after Ninny they didn't have to factor in injuries too. 

Snufkin stops eating and picks up the notepad again and Moomin frowns, having forgotten that his friend wouldn't be able to talk and eat at the same time right now. ' _ Probably not, I'm sorry. _ '

Moomin feels his heart break a little at the apology, but he smiles widely and begins to cut up a pancake, passing some to Snufkin on a plate. "You've got nothing to apologise for, you know. We'll take this at your pace and figure everything out okay?"

He watches the pancake disappear as Snufkin chews it slowly, remembering that they had to listen instead of continuing to ramble on, deciding to wait until after breakfast to say anything else. At least that way, if Snufkin wants to say anything, he won't be interrupted.

They sit in silence as they finish breakfast, most of Snufkin's porridge still in the bowl and only half a pancake gone, but at least he's eating. 

Once they've finished, Moomin takes the tray back down, leaving Snufkin's coffee for him to drink when he wants it. Little My and Pappa are up too now, so he says good morning to them both on the veranda before going back to the kitchen.

"Snufkin didn't sleep well last night, Mamma," Moomin whispers as he sets the tray down, not wanting to create a fuss about it because he knows that would upset Snufkin. "I think he was in pain."

Mamma nods a little. “Okay, you go and sit with your father and Little My and I’ll go and talk to Snufkin to see what I can do to help.”

Moomintroll does as he’s told, trying to listen to the conversation the others are having, but finding his mind never really leaves Snufkin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry for the long wait! and also for how short this chapter is. all of the moomin chapters are shorter, i suppose i just find snufkin's pov easier to write. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


	7. Snufkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as par for the course, lots of injury talk.

The next few days are much the same as the first. Snufkin stays in bed for most of it, unable to move too much without irritating his fractured ribs, or reopening the cuts in awkward places.

And he's developed a fever on top of all of that, probably from being out in the cold and wet without protection, breathing laboured and only making his ribs hurt more.

Mamma has been the most helpful of all of them, giving him medicine for his fever and painkillers that help him to sleep a little better.

Snufkin really appreciates it all so much.

So so much.

But he hates seeing Moomintroll's eyes fade a little every morning that Snufkin doesn't become visible. And he hates how stuck he is. And he hates how much he hates being here.

He stopped communicating yesterday, ignoring everyone that came into the room, wishing to be left alone and regretting not running away when he had the chance. He feels both stifled and forgotten, overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time, and the harsh dichotomy does nothing to make him feel better.

It doesn't take a lot for him to start crying, but he's so alone in a house full of people, exactly how he felt as a child in his mother's house, and he slips even further away.

* * *

 

Moomintroll refuses to leave him alone. Snufkin wonders if maybe he realised on his own that as hard as the mumrik pushes people away, that's all he really wants. To be seen.

It's embarrassing, but listening to Moomin ramble on about everything and nothing all at once distracts him from the pain well, and soothes the loneliness somewhat.

"- was an actual ghost! Snorkmaiden was so scared," Moomin says, voice falsely happy. Snufkin can see the desperation to cheer him up in his eyes as clearly as he can see the worry whenever there's blood seeping through the sleeves of his shirt. He learnt to stay under the covers pretty quickly after that. The healing bath salts don't seem to completely solve his cuts and scratches. "Until she realised we'd actually planned the whole thing… And then she trapped the ghost in a jar and put him on the windowsill!"

Snufkin wonders how the ghost felt, being trapped in a jar and left on a windowsill, vulnerable and alone, silent. He doesn't have to wonder for long. His invisibility is his jar, Moominhouse his windowsill, and he hates how easy it is for him to find some familiarity in it.

Why isn't he more grateful? They're all caring for him, all worried for him. Shouldn't Snufkin do more to help himself?

But what can he even do?

* * *

 

After two weeks of being in Moominhouse, Snufkin's feet and hands return.

He wakes up, miserable and in pain just like every other morning, but when he brings his hands up to rub the sleep from his eyes, he almost screams in shock. There are his hands. Visible.

He lifts the duvet, just as shocked to see his feet, and for the first time since being found, he feels something resembling happiness.

Moomintroll, on the other hand, gets so excited to see Snufkin returning that he almost drops their breakfast. "Oh Snufkin! You're coming back! I knew you would!"

And as sweet as it is for the moomin to be so happy on his behalf, it just makes the ensuing despair worse.

Yes, it's wonderful that his invisibility is fading. What isn't so wonderful is that now, they can see the damage done during the storm and his fall.

Both his hands and his feet are littered with little red lines (understandably, he knew they'd be there), and his wrists are purple and mottled, bruising against the skin from what must be sprains.

He can tell it hurts Moomin more to see his injuries than it upsets Snufkin. Maybe he hadn't quite realised the extent of his pain.

That night, he hears his friend crying in his bedroom next door, and Snufkin finds himself wishing he'd stayed invisible.

* * *

 

Mamma, now understanding, at least slightly, some of the ailments Snufkin is dealing with, wraps his wrists gently but firmly in bandages, hiding the bruises and supporting his joints in the right position so it doesn't hurt too much. Then she rubs a salve into the scrapes and cuts on his skin, numbing the nerves and turning the cuts into scars by the next day.

Moomin doesn't visit him until he's bandaged and the scars are beginning to fade. He tries not to let it get to him, but how can he not blame himself for causing his friend such distress? How is it not his fault?

The fever gets worse before it gets better as well, and he finds keeping food down difficult. Snufkin thinks he'd find it funny, how there's only one problem after another, if it wasn't so painful and difficult to live with.

But he keeps coming back. Eventually, it’s just his head that isn’t there, and his voice, and as much as it upsets his friend to see his injuries, it does mean that Mamma can help him heal a lot better, knowing what it actually is that she’s trying to heal.

He even manages to walk downstairs on his own after a few more days, and Snufkin feels a lot less stressed out being able to move around, less cooped up, less trapped.

Hopefully things will get better now. After all, they can’t get much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i disappeared im sorry XD please forgive me, i've been busy with college plans and university plans and friend drama and depression and ive just been a mess.
> 
> the good news however is we're halfway there! only 7 more chapters if my plan stays together
> 
> hope you're all doing well and that this chapter was okay! i know it's slightly short again but i mostly wanted to get the chapter out and also move the story on
> 
> also thank you all for such lovely comments, i promise i will reply to them soon! i don't know when but i will X3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates will be sporadic probably because I have 0 self control.


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